


Stop This Heartbreak Overload

by DestielTheShipOfDreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxious Dean, Canon Compliant, Coda, Dean wants Cas SO BAD, Deanial, Episode: s12e07 Rock Never Dies, Insecure Dean, M/M, No Smut, One Shot Collection, Overthinking, Panty Kink, Past Crowley/Dean Winchester, Pining Dean, Repression, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 04:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13494784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielTheShipOfDreams/pseuds/DestielTheShipOfDreams
Summary: Coda series of one shots for 12x07 'Rock Never Dies', exploring Dean's emotions, generally focused on his feelings for Cas. Title taken from the 80's angst hit 'Missing You' which should tell you all you need to know about this Deanial Destiel fic. Features an in depth look at the anxieties and insecurities of one Dean Winchester and some vague past Drowley (so canon).





	Stop This Heartbreak Overload

**Author's Note:**

> Ahoy there! This is probably the last old fic that I'll bring across from ff.net. It's very much a delve into Dean's mind during 12x07. I thought I'd made him too insecure and anxious but then I was like nope, that actually seems about right. Poor Dean, he's his own worst enemy tbh.  
> Title is taken from 'Missing You' by John Waite, a favourite angsty 80's love song of mine that would definitely come on in the Impala and make Dean uncomfortably aware of his own denial. The line doesn't really fit the fic but I liked it, and the song overall definitely fits.  
> There's a shout out to Muse because they're my favourite band, deal with it xx

It’s not that Dean has been missing Castiel. He doesn’t miss people. He’s way past missing people. He stopped missing people years ago, because there’s not much point in destroying yourself pining for the people you care about when they all leave or die. If Dean were missing Cas it would hurt a lot more than this, he’s sure. So he’s glad he’s not missing him.

 

It’s more like he’s worried about the poor guy. He only just got back from being Lucifer and he didn’t even take a break to recover from that. Plus, Cas is like a kitten or something, all innocent eyes and confused head tilts. He really shouldn’t be out on his own. OK, so he’s an ancient warrior of God who used to actually be God, but still, he’s sensitive. And Crowley must be pissing him off pretty bad.

 

But Cas wanted to go off on his own, as always, and Dean isn’t going to embarrass himself begging to go along with him. Besides, he had Mom to think about, Cas was right about that. But then, of course, Mary swanned off too because apparently only Sam can stand to be around Dean for any length of time. And now it’s too late to drag Sammy along to join Cas and Crowley… it would be weird.

 

Dean just wants to be sure that Cas is alright, that he’s not still all depressed, that he actually understood the gist of Dean’s clumsy speech about how they’re brothers or whatever he came up with to express his feelings on the spot. Shit, that was awkward. But Dean can deal with awkward if it means getting that dead look out of Cas’s eyes. And he was sure they were getting somewhere; Cas was so happy to have Dean back. The force of that hug is still something that’s very much on Dean’s mind. It makes him feel a little winded just thinking about it. Only Sam’s ever hugged him like that, like he’s everything. Like Cas was really feeling something, not just testing out a human emotion or suppressing whatever weird angelic stuff goes on in his head.

 

After that hug, Dean wondered if maybe he and Cas could finally act like proper best friends, stick around together, hang out, get to know each other outside of the whole life and death, brothers in arms thing. He’s caught glimpses of the Cas he hardly knows. Dean’s smiled at weird emoticons in random texts, asked about which shows are good on netflix, had quiet philosophical conversations over beers, listened enviously to the way Cas and Sam trade opinions and interesting facts without stumbling and making dumb jokes like Dean would. He knows all about the things they discuss, he reads all the same books and more and sometimes he opens his mouth to join in their nerdy little chats, but he never quite does it. He sips his beer, keeps his eyes on his phone, puts in his earbuds and silently curses himself.

 

And now, Cas is away again for who knows how long and Dean’s trying not to text him too often because he really wants to talk, because he-

 

Ah, fuck. He misses him.

 

* * *

 

“Wait, this isn’t Ladyheart.”

 

Sam turns and smirks at him and Dean swears silently, forgetting that he’s not supposed to like that crap. Damn. It’s been an hour of what feels like Ladyheart’s entire discography and Dean’s been neglecting to complain for approximately fifty five minutes of that time.

 

“No, Dean, it’s not. I got sick of ‘em, put some Muse on instead. If you want me to play more Ladyheart I can-”

 

“No,” Dean snaps, shifting in his seat. “I figured you could play all your shit on the way to LA and I play some real music on the way back, is all.”

 

Sam just smirks again, turning his smug hazel eyes to the road. Little prick. Dean nods moodily along to the song for a bit - he’s never sure what to make of Muse because they are rock, but he’s not sure whether they’re a bit alternative for his kind of stuff, and sometimes they sound dangerously close to pop - and lets his mind wander, pondering whether LA will have changed much in ten years. He kinda liked it when they were there last. Being a PA was awesome. Nice weather, too, and everyone was really fucking hot. It felt more alive and exciting than the America he was used to. Which is exactly why Dean didn’t belong there. Too modern and bright and youthful. Not the kind of place he’d ever fit in.

 

Dean snorts thinking of Cas in LA. It might be the City of Angels but Cas must stick out there even more than Dean does. Sam makes an enquiring noise next to him, mid-yawn, and Dean snorts again.

 

“Just thinking how weird it’s gonna be seeing Cas in LA.”

 

Sam laughs too. “Yeah, true. Ugh, and Crowley. Bet he fits right in there.”

 

Dean grimaces. “Oh, I’ll bet.”

 

“Yeah. Hey, it will be nice to catch up with Cas though. Been worried about him.”

 

Dean tenses and glances sideways at Sam. “You have?”

 

“Yeah, Dean, the guy’s been through a lot and then he just took off again… kinda makes you wonder how messed up he is if he can’t even take a bit of time to stay home and recover.”

 

Steadfastly ignoring how strongly he agrees, Dean shakes his head, eyes on the road. “Guess he doesn’t see it as home. Not much we can do about that.”

 

Sam sighs. “Isn’t there?”

 

Dean opens his mouth and then shuts it again. He doesn’t answer.

 

* * *

 

LA is as beautiful as Dean remembers, and as ugly too. They cruise through the busy streets, Dean muttering curses at other drivers, out of practice with inner city driving. Sam’s phone parrots directions at them and Dean’s weary by the time they get to the hotel that Cas specified, eyes aching from the sunshine reflecting off of other cars, neck aching from a long drive, ears aching from Google fucking Maps.

 

But the hotel lobby is cool and calm, the chairs comfortable, and Sam has that interested look he used to get whenever they rolled into a new town when he was a kid, before he understood that a new town means new corpses and new scars. Dean watches him with a smile and starts to relax a little. After all, they’re here to see Cas. And Crowley, and Lucifer might show up and kill them all, but… Cas. Maybe time away is what he needed. Maybe today is the day he’ll stroll up and smile and look confident and friendly instead of downtrodden and closed off. Maybe Dean might even hug him. It’s a normal thing to do.

 

And they’re in LA, after all. Anything can happen in LA. Maybe today is the day for Dean to be confident, too.

 

Maybe he’ll flash a charming grin and make some witty comment and Cas will laugh affectionately and wonder why he left in the first place.

 

Maybe they’ll go off investigating together and have a great time and it’ll be almost like being on holiday.

 

Maybe Cas will take off his coat and put on some sunglasses and relax a bit and look like a whole other version of himself, warm in the sunshine.

 

Maybe they’ll all find the time to go out for a family meal and swap stories and agree to work together from now on, the four of them - even Crowley - as a team.

 

Maybe Dean will steal Cas away for a serious chat and let him know that he really does care, that he kinda does miss him, that he should come home, and he’ll do it calmly and sincerely instead of stammering and acting all gruff.

 

Maybe Crowley will flirt with Dean, as usual, and Dean will roll his eyes and wave it off instead of getting defensive and making an idiot of himself. Maybe he’ll even flirt back, for old time’s sake. Maybe Cas will notice. Maybe Cas will care…

 

Dean cuts his ridiculous fantasising off right there, flushing. Whatever, he just feels different and more daring and free in LA, even though he could never live here, and he wants things to change so why not now? Things can change. It can happen.

 

Dean takes a deep breath, waiting for Cas to arrive.

 

* * *

 

He chickens out, of course. He sits there and thinks too much about seeing Cas again and at some point, fear sets in. He doesn’t even know what of. He recoils back from the idea of a cheery hello and a hug, tells himself not to be so stupid and sentimental. Cas is here on business.

 

Dean feels awkward and annoyed. He feels totally out of place. He’s bitching at Sam about drinking water with cucumber in it. Inside his head, he’s thinking how that probably tastes refreshing, how he kinda wants some, how it would be easy to add some cucumber and maybe some mint to their water jug in the fridge at the bunker. But the image doesn’t fit and he can feel the disgust in his expression, hear the rejection in his tone, see the exasperated confusion with which Sam regards him.

 

But then Cas is there. And admittedly he actually is more animated than he was when he left, calling their names and striding with purpose. He looks essentially the same as always though, serious and focused, like he’s never had fun in his life.

 

Sam starts to stand. Dean starts to sweat. He stands too, after a brief hesitation.

 

Cas rounds the corner. A hug is unthinkable at this point but a clap on the shoulder? That’s familiar, that’s safe. Cas is family, Dean’s allowed to touch him, it’s not weird.

 

Dean doesn’t touch him. He doesn’t even try.

 

OK, he can say something. Something nice. Cas is coming to a halt before them. He’s not even looking at Dean; he’s staring up at Sam, quietly approving, subtly pleased. He’s happy to see Sam. He doesn’t need to smile or sound cheerful for Dean to know that. Dean knows Cas, even if sometimes they’re like strangers.

 

Dean feels caught, tugged between the need to change things, to find some courage in this city of possibility, to put it all right somehow… and a growing, irrational, familiar fear that puts him sharply on edge. He hears himself speak, his tone rough and critical: “Hey… consider switching up the duds there? Bit stiff for this town.”

 

Internally, he cringes as Cas looks at him, clearly insulted. Even Cas, who never expects anything, expected a better greeting than that. Dean knows what he meant: loosen up, smile, shed some layers, let me in, please, please. It didn’t translate well.

 

Cas is looking away, already distancing himself. Sam is saying how Cas could be an agent. Dean has failed, again. He replies irritably: “Yeah, maybe a third tier agent.”

 

Cas looks at him with real annoyance and offense and bizarrely, Dean feels almost calmed by the bite behind his reply: “At least I don’t look like a lumberjack!”

 

Bickering. You only bicker with people you care about. A dopey smile has stolen onto Dean’s face before Cas has even finished the tart retort. He wipes it off quickly.

 

* * *

 

Dean tries to listen to Crowley’s smug drawling in the elevator, but it’s tricky when Cas is standing still and silent right beside him, eyes fixed passively on the opposite wall, a vague air of annoyance lingering about his stiff shoulders. At least Dean can be fairly sure that said annoyance is no longer over Dean’s grumpy comments about his outfit. Cas’s irritation seems reserved solely for the part-time King of Hell.

 

“... but we didn’t stop there for very long, did we, Feathers?”

 

Cas gives a delicate, long-suffering sigh and for a brief moment, his eyes meet Dean’s as he grimaces his displeasure. Dean smirks back. He wonders if it’s the nickname that’s getting to Cas. Dean’s given Cas some really stupid nicknames over the years, ‘sunshine’ being a more recent half-joking one that gives Dean a little thrill every time he gets away with it without the world falling apart around him. Anyway, Cas has never looked annoyed at Dean’s nicknames. Maybe he finds ‘Feathers’ particularly grating because of his damaged wings.

 

Maybe, as Cas once said so many years ago when things were still new and breathless, Dean is just different.

 

They get to Vince’s room and Dean shakes himself into focus, eyes peeled for anything supernatural. All he can see is evidence of an enviable amount of rockstar debauchery. His interest spikes at the sight of a pair of hot pink satin and lace panties. Cas is making the world’s dorkiest clueless comment about there having clearly been a fight, and Dean is so busy sarcastically replying that he actually picks up the damn panties instead of just staring at them as he walks past. Shit. They’re silky and soft between his fingers and uncensored thoughts flash through his mind as he holds them for an instant: how they’d feel against his skin, how the colour would contrast with his pale freckled flesh, long tanned fingers slipping beneath the waistband, exploring, curious-

 

No. Shit, no, shit, he needs to put these fucking panties down right fucking now.

 

Dean is already glancing sideways, pulling his gaze back automatically when he sees Cas looking at him in his peripheral vision. Looking at him. Holding panties.

 

He drops the panties. His heart is hammering.

 

Moving away with a frown, Dean glances back, barely listening to what Sam is saying, and sees Cas picking up the panties, that old sparkle of fascination back in his eyes. Dean snaps his gaze away, mouth dry. He really could have gone without seeing Cas’s long, tanned fingers disappearing beneath pink satin and lace. Like… it’s weird.

 

Seconds later, when Dean dares to glance back at Cas, he’s put the panties down. Dean is relieved. Back to business.

 

* * *

 

OK, so talking to Roseleen is downright depressing. She’s so deeply sad, hopeless, deluded. The worst part is that as if carving into her own flesh as some kind of worshipful offering wasn’t enough, she’s been lied to. She’s still never even spoken properly to Vince Vincente. Vince is dying, probably no longer mentally functioning at this point. Dean is glad to get out of Roseleen’s room but the glum, tainted feeling follows him, all the way back to Cas and Crowley.

 

Dean and Sam recount the new information about the show and queasily repeat Roseleen’s explanation of her motivation to hurt herself. To Dean’s unease, Cas looks troubled but unsurprised and Crowley looks more unimpressed than anything else.

 

The unease increases as Crowley makes a little speech about how it’s all about being worshipped and having power, how ‘intoxicating’ it is. Dean expects this crap from the King of Hell, but he glances at Cas only to find the angel looking thoughtful and disturbed, as though he somehow relates to what Crowley is saying, as though he’s ever been a power-hungry asshole-

 

Oh.

 

Dean isn’t sure how he forgot what it felt like to see Castiel, the New God, standing proud and cold and glowing in that wrecked laboratory. The smug curl of his mouth and the bruising disdain of his eyes, the way he looked at Dean and knew him and utterly owned him. Dean’s never quite experienced anything like that since, even standing before the Darkness or God himself. Because it was Cas.

 

It was Cas, but with unlimited power. Cas, so high he was totally beyond reach, so gone that it was like he was possessed. But he wasn’t, because he was still looking at Dean, and that had always been what was different about Cas. Nearly everyone else looked away, walked away, ran away, but Cas lingered and watched and drifted closer. And even when he was God he was still looking at Dean, and Dean is remembering what that felt like and suddenly, with a cold rush, he understands a bit of what Roseleen was saying.

 

And that’s not something he wants to think about, so he forces it down just as Crowley finishes speaking. Dean pulls a casually put-off face and remarks that it’s super creepy and really, he’s gotten scarily good at covering up reactions.

 

He’s tuned in to the rest of the short discussion, thinking about what’s facing them and how they can overcome it, all the usual stuff. But just before he walks off, just as he’s starting to relax again, Cas catches his eye, looking sad and concerned, and Dean realises that it doesn’t matter how good he can cover up a reaction. Cas notices. He’s away so much but when he’s here, Cas always notices.

 

Because Cas is still looking at him.

 

* * *

 

It’s not like he’s gotten dressed up specifically for Cas.

 

The leather jackets were Sam’s idea; he’d brought his own one with him in a fit of LA excitement and it was a quick shopping trip to find a reasonably priced one for Dean and some dreaded tight jeans for both of them. Well, fairly quick. Dean might have grabbed three different jackets and four pairs of jeans and shut himself in the changing room to obsess over his reflection for almost twenty minutes, and Sam might have gone to buy them overpriced juices and met him back at the car with an amused grin, and Dean might have muttered ‘who’s the lumberjack now’ more than once at the mirror. Regardless, it was mere coincidence that Dean threw on a new look - for the case, not by choice - right after Cas mocked his usual appearance.

 

And if he felt kinda sexy and didn’t bother getting changed after failing at using the disguise, so what? Sam didn’t get changed either.

 

So now, sitting back in the lobby listening to Sam report that there’s still no sign of the gig location online, Dean is feeling oddly relaxed, almost confident. Sure, their plan is seemingly in tatters, but it’ll all come together. It always does. Cas texted not long ago to say he’s on his way and Dean is feeling a weird faint thrum of excitement that he’s perfectly willing to attribute to the nice weather.

 

Feeling thirsty, he reaches for a cup and starts filling it with cucumber water, wondering vaguely why he got so annoyed about it earlier. He’s in LA, he looks good in this jacket and Cas is on his way, not that that has anything to do with anything; the point is, he can drink goddamn cucumber water if he wants to.

 

“Seriously?” Sam snipes at him with a flat, unimpressed stare. Shit. Maybe Dean shouldn’t be drinking the fancy water. He knows that Sam’s really just annoyed at the double standards, but he still feels judged. He must look like an idiot-

 

“What?” he growls, looking away. Sam makes a frustrated gesture in his peripheral vision and Dean musters up some fake dignity as he goes to take a sip.

 

“Shut up,” he says defensively, actually sort of starting to believe his own bullshit. The water tastes nice and he still looks damn good. It’s fine. It’s just water.

 

Cas walks in. Dean puts the cucumber water down.

 

The angel sits heavily in the seat opposite and Dean is asking how he went but he’s on autopilot, at least for the first ten seconds, because Cas looks him up and down and eyes the leather jacket and then fixes him with an odd, heavy, authoritative gaze that licks over him, holds him down like hands on his bare skin… Dean sweats.

 

Dean doesn’t meet Cas’s eyes again for a good five minutes. It’s real hot in LA.

 

* * *

 

They’re going to do it. They’re going to confront Lucifer. Again.

 

Dean can’t really concentrate on much with intense worry for both Sammy and Cas battering at his brain - he’s even spared a brief flicker of concern for Crowley, who after all was the bastard’s prisoner for quite a while recently - so he does that thing where he clamps down on all that shit and turns into a good little soldier. Sam can talk about repressed feelings and unhealthy coping mechanisms all he likes; it works. Dean focuses on what might be useful from the Impala. He withdraws the trusty old Enochian handcuffs that he tends to ignore nowadays because the memory of Cas wearing them is weird and vivid and distracting; he dismisses the mental image. Cas is saying something about Tommy not answering his phone.

 

“Well, he got us here, that’s what matters,” Dean replies robustly. His voice only comes out a touch breathless and tense and in the part of his mind that isn’t trained on the task at hand, Dean is pleased that he’s keeping his anxiety over his family at bay. He really just wants both of them as far from Lucifer as possible though.

 

Crowley is bitching about the handcuffs, like he’s brought anything better. Cas points out that he was held by them and Dean again shoves down the memory of that odd time after the attack dog spell. It was nice to look after Cas, to be allowed to worry about him without it being weird, to keep him for a while. And the handcuffs…

 

“We have no sure bets here, OK?” Dean says harshly to Crowley, allowing his well-trained instincts to trample all over the mess of thoughts and images muddling up the back of his mind. He’s here to do a job, not to fret and get caught up in useless memories. “Anything that we use is gonna be like poppin’ BBs.”

 

Crowley continues to bitch, predictably. Sam, also predictably, starts up on his usual spiel about saving innocent civilians. Dean is just starting to feel guilty - as usual - that this hasn’t even occurred to him - as usual - when Cas speaks: “I’ll take Lucifer. He’s my responsibility.”

 

Dean feels like his throat is closing up and he’s grateful when Sam argues against Cas, because he needs a moment to gather up this blinding fear over Cas’s reckless, self-hating vendetta against Lucifer and lock it away so that when he next speaks, he’s calm and rational instead of shrill and hysterical. Cas says some crap about ensuring that Lucifer is ‘otherwise engaged’ and Dean is distantly pleased with how level he sounds when he replies: “Engaged in what, Cas, killing you?”

 

Despite a flicker of vulnerability in those sad eyes, Cas remains determined to be the front line in this particular mission and Dean isn’t going to waste time or make a fool of himself trying to keep the idiot safe. Plus, Crowley will probably keep him alive. Forcing an icy indifference upon himself, Dean turns away and goes to do his job.

 

* * *

 

The showdown with Lucifer was a standard level of terrifying, but Dean’s already concentrating on relief that they all survived and the usual sense that he probably could have handled that better. He slams the trunk shut on those damn handcuffs and, feeling weary, trudges around the side of the Impala where the others are.

 

“How you feelin’?” he asks Cas. He feels kinda bad a nanosecond later, realising that he only addressed Cas when Crowley is a bloodied mess right next to him. Something bitter and hurt flickers in the demon’s one good eye and Dean, aware that more is going on there than he cares to think about, makes an effort to show concern for Crowley too. Cas replies with a dull attempt at humour that he’s not dead but Dean looks at Crowley as he awkwardly praises them for successfully detaining Lucifer.

 

Crowley’s battered face softens slightly and Dean holds his gaze for a moment, feeling flustered. He neither likes nor dislikes the way that Crowley makes him feel. Crowley knows stuff about Dean, or at least about who Dean was when he was a demon. The history they share is confusing and disturbing and oddly comforting.

 

Dean does not wish to examine any of that. He looks away for a moment and then gathers himself, announcing that he’s calling tonight a win. He’s trying to bolster his own ragged spirits as much as everyone else’s but Sam, apparently, is having none of it. His little brother makes a depressing-as-fuck speech about how they’re ‘losing slowly’ and Dean kind of wants to break down crying, get so wasted he passes out, and hug the haunted look out of Sam’s eyes, all at the same time. Jesus, he knows things are bad, but to have it all laid out is exhausting and depressing and-

 

No. He’s the big brother, he’s the leader, he’s the strong one. He has to be the strong one. Crowley and Cas mournfully chime in with more doom and gloom and Dean decides, there and then, to also be the optimistic one. Unfortunately, his voice comes out less encouraging and more frustrated and angry when he speaks.

 

“Then we will stop him.” He looks around at his little band of fighters, his family, and gains some measure of genuine determination as he takes in their almost grateful expressions. They need him. “We will. It’s what we do, man.”

 

The last is directed at Sammy, because even when everyone else is doubtful and sees through his bullshit, Sam is loyal and supportive. But Sam looks unconvinced, and Dean feels useless as his little brother turns away from him, eyes still haunted.

 

A hand settles on Dean’s shoulder and he glances tiredly sideways to see affection in the curve of Cas’s mouth, the weight of his gaze. Dean leans into the angel’s grip, just a little. Why did he think it would be weird to touch Cas? Cas has no trouble touching him and it feels utterly natural and right. They stare at each other for a moment before Cas speaks, his voice calm and certain and warm.

 

“I know we will, Dean.”


End file.
